


Unexpected guests

by Ceciliedr



Series: Let's go dimension jumping [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batbrothers (DCU), Crossover, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Pack Bonding, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceciliedr/pseuds/Ceciliedr
Summary: Stiles and the others are all set for their weekly pack night, when a pair of unexpected visitors derail their plans. Are they friend or foe? And what's with the strange names and weird outfits?“Lower your weapons.” And there is Derek’s patented death glare. Eyes glowing blood-red.Helmet just snorts “not happening, goldie you have it running?”“Didn’t have the time.”“Great. Just our luck to be caught in a standoff with fucking werewolves, this is off to a great start.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Let's go dimension jumping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838617
Comments: 9
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles finally succeed in annoying Derek into weekly pack nights, it had involved a lot of him getting slammed into walls. A growling alpha threatening to rip his throat out. But hey, that was a sacrifice Stiles was more than willing to make.

So here they are, one their eight of such nights. Pizza, popcorn, sodas, and candy piled up on Derek’s giant coffee table. Arguing about which movie they are gonna watch. Erica and Boyd are entangled on the loveseat. Stiles, Derek, and Lydia have claimed the couch. With Scott and Isaac in beanbags on the floor. Stiles had been impressed when Derek brought new furniture before the pack came over for that first night. It helped turn the loft into more of a home, especially because Isaac moved in around the same time. How Derek managed to become the kid’s legal guardian, is a mystery Stiles has yet to crack. Come on, Derek was a murder suspect that one time!

“We are not watching the notebook again.” Derek flashes his eyes red at Lydia, who only raises an eyebrow at him. Entirely unimpressed.

“Please Lydia, there are so many other good movies.” Stiles has never been above begging or using Scott’s puppy eyes for all they are worth. Scott must have read his mind, because he turns the big brown orbs towards Lydia. Blinking up at her.

A flash of light has Stiles closing his eyes, blinking away multicolored spots, while the sound of growling riverbends through the air. He does notice that the entire pack is wolfed out, but most of Stiles’s attention goes to the two strangers now standing on the table. More so to the two guns trained steadily between the eyes of both Derek and Scott. The other holds a pair of enigma sticks, the crack of electricity results in even deeper growls from the betas.

But it’s the getup that really has Stiles puzzled. Sue him, they get threatened on a bi-weekly basis. But he’s never heard of any hunters wearing skintight suits or red helmets.

“Why don’t you pack the fangs away and we will be out of your hair in no time.” Helmet says, his voice way to conversational for the situation. Hell, both of them look relatively relaxed at a first glance. Something in the back of Stiles’s head starts screaming danger.

“Lower your weapons.” And there is Derek’s patented death glare. Eyes glowing blood-red. 

Helmet just snorts “not happening, goldie you have it running?”

“Didn’t have the time.”

“Great. Just our luck to be caught in a standoff with fucking werewolves, this is off to a great start.”

“It could be worse,” Skintight says, like they are talking about the weather and not the five angry wolves circling out around them, the slightest provocation away from attacking. Stiles casts a glance at Lydia, finding her staring at Helmet with wide eyes and a look on her face, he has never seen before. And Stiles’s an expert on the exceptional creature, that is Lydia Martin.

“It could, but you know I hate tangling with supernaturals, give me a gang war any day.”

“Gang wars are nice and straight forward.” Skintight agrees, giving the room at large a beaming smile, like they are all in on some private joke.

“Last chance to lower your weapons before I rip your throats out.”

“He’s not kidding about that.” Stiles feels the need to inject, hoping to stop this before Derek gives it the old try and there is no way back. The stranger’s confidence is unnerving.

“And get blood all over your nice carpet, that would be such a pain to get out.” Helmets’ face is obscured, but Stiles just knows he’s smirking. Fingers curling around the trickers. Stiles is not sure even an alpha can survive a short to the head this close range and he’s not keen to test it.

“How are you alive?” Lydia’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, drawing everybody’s attention to the redhead as she stands up. Stiles scrambling the get on his feet beside her.

“Not sure what you’re asking sweetheart.” It’s hard to say who’s helmet is looking at.

“You were dead.”

Both men tense up, one of the guns move from Scott to Lydia in the blink of an eye. When helmet speaks, the new edge to his voice has shivers running up Stiles’s spine.  
“How the hell do you know that?”

If the wolves weren’t starring at him before -which they were- they are now. Stiles notices that Lydia’s eyes have a glassines about them that’s frankly creepy. She tilts her head to the side, seeming to listen for something.

“The laughter is so horrible, its-:”

“Shut up, shut the hell up right now or I’m gonna put a bullet in your brain.” Helmet’s arms are shaking now. His voice is a growl that could give any werewolf a run for their money. 

“Little wing.” Skintight shoulders one of the sticks, in favor of putting a hand on the others shoulder. The beta’s look to Derek for guidance, but he’s as confused as the rest. Leaving it up to Stiles, to ones again be the brain of this operation. He slowly steps up to Derek, laying a hand on his arm.

“Everybody is gonna put their sharp things and deadly objects away now, so we can all pretend to be mature and talk about this mess.” Helmet’s age is impossible to tell, but Skintight can’t be much older than Derek. Stiles would actually put money on him being a lot younger than the domino mask makes him seem.

“Stiles,” Derek growls out.

Stiles lifts a brow “sourwolf?”

Derek growls and glares some more, but he does eventually return to human form, the others following suit. Skintight slides the other enigma stick back on his back, slowly putting his now free hand on the others gun.

“Wing?”

“Okay,” the breath Helmet takes is audible, but the pistols go back into his thigh-holsters, “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, big bird I’m sure.”

Stiles is dying to ask what the hole back from the dead thing is about. But even he knows better. Helmet grumbles when Skintight claps his frame in a one-armed hug, but makes no move to get out of the affection. A new form of tension hangs in the air for a few seconds - more awkward and less murderers - before Skintight turns towards them with a smile, that seems to light up the room.

“I’m Nightwing and this is Red Hood.” 

Stiles points to his packmates as he names them. “Derek, Lydia, Scott, Isaac, and Boyd. The fierce-looking blonde is called Erica and I’m Stiles.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Isaac raises his hand “I for one would like to know how you ended up on our table.” He gestures towards said table, and Stiles notice for the first time, that their visitors have completely crushed the snacks. Stiles nearly lets of a groan over the loss of pizza, a casualty of Red Hood’s combat boots.

Nightwing grimace and finally steps down next to Scott. “Sorry about that, we had no idea where we were gonna land.” Red Hood steps down as well, heading for the window and looking out onto the street below. Without letting any of them out of his peripheral, Stiles notices.

“That doesn't really answer the question,” Stiles remarks.

Nightwing rubs his neck. “How weird does magic sound to you guys?”

“Not weirder than fighting a giant lizard,” Scott snorts “and we already did that.”

“Okaaay,” Nightwing says, drawing out the word “so-”

“Goldie, would you get moving already? We don’t have all day.” Red Hood turns back towards the room, crossing his arms.

“Give me a sec.” Nightwing sends them an apologetic smile before pulling something out of seemingly nowhere. Seriously, how the hell does that outfit have pockets? The thing looks like a mini pyramid, about the size of a hand, covered in symbols Stiles has never seen before. They aren’t anywhere in the bestiary, he’s sure of that.

“Okay let’s see if this works,” Nightwing says a line of jibberish and the symbols glow blue. Making the entire pack take a step back and triggers Derek’s glare of death nr. 3, as Stiles likes to call it.

“What is that?” His eyes glow red again.

“Sorry, should have given you guys a warning, but it’s just a tracking spell.” Nightwings’ eyes go to the pyramid, pulsing with a brighter blue light every few seconds. “with a little more range than your typical one.”

“Think magic tracking on steroids.” Hood is leaning on the wall next to the window now. Stiles didn’t even notice him move.

“Who are you tracking?” Scott asks, looking between their two unexpected guests.

“Seen a man dressed as a bat around here?”

Stiles stares a Red Hood. But why not, his seen weirder, right?

“Is he mental?” Issac asks, making Red Hood laugh. The sound of it catching all of the pack by surprise. But it does make Erica relax minutely, leaning into Boyd’s side instead of standing half in front of him. Stiles also notice the tension bleed out of Boyd’s shoulders.

“He sure is.”

“Hood.” Nightwing glares at his companion.

“What. Which sane person sees dressing up as a bat and beating criminals to a bloody pulp, as a solution to high crime rates?”

“Like you have any room to talk.” Nightwing looks Hood over from combat boots to the ridiculous helmet. Stiles doesn’t think any of them have any room to talk fashion to be honest and Lydia has repeatedly informed him, that he doesn’t have a fashion sense.

“We are all fucked up big bird, that’s old news. The really crazy thing is that it works.”

“So you are looking for a giant bat? why and how did you end up here?” Stiles interrupts, sensing a bigger discussion brewing.

“B got himself lost fighting the latest looney head, we are looking for him.”

Stiles stares at Hood. “That tells me next to nothing.”

“That’s the idea,” Stiles swears the asshole is grinning underneath that helmet.

“Maybe if you do tell us more, we will be able to help you.” Scott turns his puppy eyes towards Nightwing. The guy keeps most of his focus on the pyramid, but still offers Scott a grateful smile.

“We appreciate the offer, but we can’t really do anything before we know whether or not he is even here.” 

“And with our rotten luck, he’s never gonna be the first place we try and look for him.”

“Little wing.” Nightwings’ voice has the same exasperated tone Dereks gets, whenever the betas don’t pay attention in training or Stiles himself is being particularly annoying.

“Are you disagreeing with me?”

Nightwing’s only answer is giving the other a look. They seem to have a silent conversation for a few seconds before Nightwings eyes return to watching the blue pulses. Color Stiles impressed, must be hard to do when both their eyes are covered up. Nightwing starts to shift his weight from one foot to the other and back again. Lydia has retaken her place on the couch, but has yet to take her eyes of Red Hood, who in turn completely ignores her.

“That still doesn’t explain you ending up on Derek’s coffee table.” Erica crosses her arms, leaning her shoulder against Boyds.

“Short answer; magic.”

“And the long one?” Ericas attempts to stare down Red Hood has no effect what so ever. Stiles can’t help but be a little impressed, knowing how terrifying she can be.

“Is also magic.” Stiles ones again get the impression that he is grinning underneath the helmet. Erica must agree, letting out a deep growl. Eyes flashing yellow for a second. Issac moves closer to her side, arms hanging down his sides loosely. Red Hood doesn’t appear to move a muscle, but they also so how quickly he could react. Stiles decides to interrupt before it escalates further. 

“Any idea how long this tracking spell is gonna take?”

“We don’t know.” Nightwing is back to glaring daggers at his companion every few seconds.

“What’s the range on that thing?” Stiles points at the pyramid.

“Enough.”

“You are infuriating, anybody ever tell you that?” Its Stiles turn to glare at Red Hood.

“Heard it ones or twice before.”

“I’m surprised it’s not more.”

“Most people don’t have to balls to say it to my face.”

“Stiles here never knows when to shut up.” There is definitely a hint of fondness in Derek’s voice. At least that’s progress. Stiles still decides to give him the finger, on principle if nothing else.

“Sakasmen is my only defense and you all know it.” His experiments with covering baseball bats in mountain ash and wolfsbane have yet to be successful. Maybe he should ask Deaton for help.

Red hood snorts “not much of a defense.”

“Well, I’m still alive.”

“Which is a minor miracle.” Derek deadpans. Stiles rounds on the alfa, pointing his finger in his face, silently wondering whether or not its gonna get bitten off, but not really caring at the moment.

“Shut it sourwolf, I’ve saved your sorry ass multiple times.” 

Of course, the only answer he gets is growling and a show of teeth. Stiles just glares right back, even going as far as sticking his tongue out. Because if Derek can’t be mature, why should he? Only one of them is still a teenager.

“Maybe we should go back to watching a movie?” Everybody looks at Scott like he is crazy, Stiles resist the urge to bury his head in his hands. Scott just looks from the pack to their unexpected guests.

“Why not? That’s what we planned to do in the first place, what’s a few extra people?” He turns to Nightwing. “You two have to wait a while anyway, why not do something fun in the meantime?”

Nightwing is looking between them, all the while a wide smile is slowly taking over the lower half of his face. “Scott has a point.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You know I love movie night.” Nightwing is still grinning, but his voice has taken on an almost pleading undertone.

Hood lefts out a huff. “Everybody and their grandmother knows that, considering how many times you force everybody to sit trough them.”

Stiles wonders one again what kind of relationship those two have. They definitely know each other well, friends maybe, or family. With Nightwings domino and Hood’s face completely obscured, its impossible to tell whether or not they look alike. Their builds are definitely different. Nightwing appears to be all lean muscle, with Hood build more like a tank. 

Hood continues, not seeming to care that the pack is watching their discussion like its a ping pong match.

“And nobody has forgiven you for introducing the demon to Disney.”

Isaacs questing “demon?” in the background goes ignored.

“It’s an important part of childhood.”

“You showed him 101 dalmatians, he was stealing puppies for weeks in the name of saving them, the cave was a mess.”

Nightwing grimaces “okay admittedly, that was not my best idea.”

“You think?”

“So no movie night?” Scott sounds confused, with is admittedly not new for him. But Stiles feels like its more justifiable in this case than usual. Derek’s near-permanent frown is back in place, but the looks he gives his packmates are questioning. The verdict he gets back is mostly shrugs, since nobody is entirely sure how to proceed.

“Why not?” Stiles runs a hand over his hair “I was looking forward to devouring my weight in pizza and snacks.” A glance at the table has him grimacing. The soda is still in the bottles so that’s fine. But unlike most of the other snacks the giant family pizza can’t be saved, they will have to order a new.

“Please little wing, we can’t do anything but wait and we could both do with a little unwinding.”

Hood lets out a sigh, but nodes none the less. Slugging a little more against the wall. Tensen leaves his shoulders. Stiles didn’t even notice it was there, until its gone. Nightwing places the pyramid on a side table, bouncing over to his companion and developing him in a hug, that makes Stiles think of an octopus. Hood only bears it for a moment, before pushing him away.

“I will get more pizza, any preferences?” Stiles digs out his phone, holding the other hand towards Derek. Who only sighs before giving Stiles his credit card. Everybody knows he’s secretly happy about using his money to take care of the pack.

“We will take whatever,” Hood says, giving Nightwing a look, that has the other closing his mouth again. Stiles is kind of curious but lets it go. Rattling of an order that covers half the menu at the local pizza place. He sure it gonna get eaten one of these days anyway, the wolfs are almost always hungry. Derek sends Boyd and Isaac on another snack run, telling them to pick up the pizza on their way back.

Now there is only one question left, with Stiles brings up white no small amount of dread. “So what are we watching?”

That of course reignites the debate from earlier. Lydia finally breaking her weird silence, to ones again insist on the notebook. Stiles suggests Star Wars, since he will make Scott watch those movies one of these days, even if it kills him. Hood shots that down with a cryptic remark about not being in the mood to see someone butcher space. Nightwing predictably goes for Disney, while Erica wants to see an action thriller.

Stiles thinks Erica is gonna get shot when her next suggestion is IT, a new horror movie that just came out. Hood’s protest is more of a growl than actual words and Nightwing is shaking his head venomously.

Isaac and Boyd make it back again before they can agree and the extra opinions doesn’t make deciding any easier. At least they get the table cleaned up and ready again while the discussion is going on.

Derek finally settles it, declaring that they are watching an action-comedy. Selecting the movie before anyone has a chance to protest.

Everybody returns to their previous seats, except Boyd and Erica, who seem happy to build a blanket nest on the floor. Surrendering the loveseat to their guests. Everybody quickly relaxes after that. Nightwing ending up sitting a weird position, that can’t possibly be comfortable, even though he appears to be. Hood even takes off the helmet, reviling a similar domino mask underneath, albeit his is red. His hair is the same black color as Nightwings, with exception of a white streak in his forehead. Stiles can’t get over how young he suddenly looks.

Most of the pack start to dose off between movie number two and three, leaving only Derek, Stiles, and their guests awake to witness Nightwing selecting Lillo and Stich as the fourth movie, despite Hood’s grumbled protests.

Stiles leans his head against Derek’s shoulder, starting to drift off himself. The last thing he registers is Lillo buying Stich at the dog shelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it's getting rather long, so I'm posting it in chapters for my own convenience.  
> Since I'm still currently writing the story, but have the two next chapters nearly done. I have a question for you all; would you rather I post them immediately and wait longer for the rest off the story. Or should I attempt to post a chapter a week until the story is finished?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to get some answers out of Red Hood, it goes better than expected.

Stiles jerks awake, the twisted memory of Gerards laugh fading to the back of his mind. Derek’s hand settles on the back of his neck, warm against the sweat cooling there, it helps a great deal in getting his breathing back under control.

“You okay?”

Stiles can’t help but grimace. “I’m fine, it was just a nightmare.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not in the least.” Derek nods, returning his focus to the tv screen, now on some random channel, playing a documentary about ancient Egypt. At least that’s what Stiles gets out of the hieroglyphs displayed on the screen. 

With his heart rate back under control, he takes a survey of the living room. His packmates are still sleeping soundly, with the exception of Derek. Figures he would be paranoid about strangers near the pack when they are vulnerable. Stiles knows where he’s coming from, even agrees with the precaution. 

Nightwing is sprawled out on the loveseat, also appearing to be in deep sleep. But there is no sign of Hood anywhere. A questioning look at Derek has him gesturing towards the roof.

“I could use a breath of fresh air.”

Derek frowns, but removes his hand after a gentle squeeze. “I haven’t caught them lying yet, but that doesn’t mean we can trust them.”

“I will try to be careful,” Stiles says, knowing Derek can hear the truth in his words as well. He carefully exits the living room, grabbing his jacket on his way out the front door.

The door to the roof opens on screeching hinges when Stiles tries the doorknob, even though he’s pretty sure it’s normally locked. Entering the roof, he quickly spots Hood sitting on the edge of it. Not seeming to care about the deadly drop in front of him. He’s smoking a cigarette.

“That’s bad for your health,” Stiles says, sitting down a few meters behind him. He doesn’t trust his own clumsiness when it comes to fatal falls.

Hood lets out a cloud of smoke, not turning around. “You sound like goldie.”

“Well, maybe he has a point.”

“Maybe he does.”

Silent falls over them for several minutes. Stiles trying to sort through the millions of questions in his head. The sky is clear above them, showing thousands of shining stars. Not as many are visible here as in the preserve, but it still beats the view out of Stiles bedroom window.

“Are you hunters?” He hasn’t met many other people with that level of confidence and familiarity around weapons and they are clearly not cops.

Hood puts out the cigarette, leaning back on his hands. “Haven’t the foggiest what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Do you two hunt werewolves? Or any supernatural creaturs I supposed.”

Hood shrugs “we go after anyone killing innocents.” 

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no,” Hood turns his head, watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye. Made all the more intimidating by the white lenses of his mask. “What is this? You trying to play 20 questions?”

Stiles shrugs “Something along those lines.”

“That game goes both ways.”

“I’m aware.”

“There is no guaranty you will get honest answers.” Hood has turned half towards him now, one leg still dangling in the air. His carelessness around heights doesn’t get less unnerving as time pass, rather the opposite. 

“I will take my chances.” It Stiles turn to lean back on his hands, keeping eye contact as best he can. “Besides, you have the same problem.”

Hood snorts. “Guess it’s my turn then, what’s the deal with Lydia?”

“Nobody quite knows.” Stiles can see Hood raise an eyebrow, even through the domino. He lets out a sign. “She has a weird connection to death and is obviously more than human, but we haven’t figured out what that makes her yet.” Stiles decides he might as well push his luck. “Was she right?”

“Yes.” 

“What happened?”

“Got killed by a psychotic clown, it didn’t stick.” Hood fingers linger on his cheek for a second, before he seemingly becomes aware of the movement, balling his hand into a fist. Pressing it against the roof, while the other hand lingers on his gun holster. Stiles bits his tongue to keep a new tidal wave of questions at bay. Letting the seconds pass in silence, as Hood visibly forces himself to relax again. Taking several deep breaths.

“So why is a human kid running around with a pack of wolfs?”

Stiles can’t help but snort, “because they would get themselves killed without me.”

“That so?”

“You have no idea. Lydia is a genius, but the rest of them…” Stiles trials off, remembering that Scott did manage to outsmart Gerard with the help off Deaton. That he didn’t tell Stiles the plan still stings a little. “Scott has been my best friend since we played in the same sandbox as kids, when he got turned, I got dragged into this alongside him.” Stiles can’t help but laugh. “He didn’t even realize he was a werewolf until I told him.”

One side of Hood’s mouth curls up into a smile. “How did he get turned?”

“No no it’s my turn,” Stiles wawes a finger in the air before continuing. “Red Hood and Nightwing aren’t your real names.”

A snort “obviously.”

“Then what is?”

“Sorry, that’s a family secret.”

Stiles raises his brows “really?”

“Yup,” Hood pops the p. “Afraid so. B would have my hide if told some random kid I have known for less than a day. No offense.” 

“Family secret, does that mean you and Nightwing are brothers?”

“Adopted, our father has a problem.” Hood laughs, but nobody can mistake the fondness in his tone for anything else. Stiles can’t help but smile in return.

“What kind of problem?”

“The kind that leaves me with way to many siblings to deal with.” Hoods sigh is one of suffering, but the smile remains in place. “So how did Scott get turned?”

“He got bit by an alpha.”

“Alpha?”

“Red eyes.” He uses two fingers to indicate his own brown ones. Hood lifts an eyebrow. 

“Derek?”

Stiles shakes his head. Finding it a little creepy how quickly Hood seems to have picked up everybody’s names. Stiles only said them ones. “No his uncle, Derek only got the power later.” Stiles shifts so he is sitting crosslegged, elbows on his knees. “So how many siblings do you got?”

“Officially, four.”

Stiles lets out a whistle “and unofficially?”

“Depends on how you look at it, our family doesn’t do normal. But most would probably count Spoiler as our honorary sister, Oracle is part of the family, but more of a cousin? Hell if I know.” Hood throws both arms into the air, appearing to be rolling his eyes behind the lenses.

“Sounds confusing.”

“It is. So how did Derek become the alpha and what does that even mean?”

Stiles grimaces, not sure how much to say, but it’s not like any of it is exactly a secret to someone who knows about werewolves in the first place. But shouldn’t Hood know it already? “The alpha is the leader of the pack, stronger than betas in every way and they are the only ones who’s bite can turn anyone. Peter killed Derek’s sister to get the power, so Derek killed him in return.”

“Seems fair enough to me, but don’t tell Nightwing. He usually gets his spandex in a twist whenever it comes to killing.” Hood makes a go on motion with his hand.

Stiles nods, not entirely sure what to make off that. “Derek and Peter was both born as wolfs. Peter turned Scott and Derek turned the rest of the pack. At least he asked first.” 

Hood gets a hard set to his jaw, mouth drawn in a thin line. Stiles decides not to mention Peter using Lydia to return to life and subsequently fleeing the city in a weakened state. As long as he stays the hell away from Beacon Hills, Stiles hardly cares what the crazy bastard spends his time during.

“So what is with the weird names and crazy getup?” Stiles gestures towards Hood’s chest, a red bat symbol visible on what is clearly body armor. Nightwing’s suit also has a birdlike symbol on it in blue.

Hood shrugs “its part of the gig.”

“And what gig is that?” Stiles leans forward, chin on his fists. Not even trying to hide his grin.

“The vigilante gig, I wouldn’t recommend fighting crime in your usual gym clothes kid. Unless you want to get killed by the first mobster who gets a lucky hit in.”

Stiles feels like his eyes are about to boggle right out of his head. Hood is smirking at him, still balancing on the edge of the building like its the most natural thing in the world. Hell, maybe it is for him.

“You fight criminals?”

“Pretty much every night.”

“The names and masks?”

“Keeps us save when we are in civilian, our loved ones too.” Hood twist his wrist, an object appearing in his hand as by magic. Stiles can’t help but admire the dexterity that trick demonstrates.

“Careful it’s sharp.” Hood hands him the object. Turns out to be a piece of metal in the same shape of a bat that’s on his chest. Stiles carefully run a finger over the razor-sharp edge. Realizing it's a trowing star.

“Where did you get this?” And can Stiles get some too? Because bat-shaped throwing stars are seriously cool. And he would very much like to chuck some at the next monster that comes for his head.

Hood lets out a huff of air that sounds distinctly amused. “Made it myself. And I think it’s my turn to ask the questions.”

Stiles shrugs, still hypnotized by the weapon in his hand. “Fire away.”

“You guys seem used to magic and Scott mentioned fighting a giant lizard, that kind of thing happens often around here?”

“All the damn time.” Stiles huffs, rolling onto his back and spawling out on the roof. Staring up into the night sky, the moon still around a week away from full. Stiles always marks the exact date in his calendar now. “Beacon Hills attracts all kind of crazy shit, apparently it has for a while. We are used to dealing with it though.”

“Doesn’t make it any less dangerous, or annoying.”

“Tell me about it!” Stiles starts to wave his hands in the air as he speaks. “That bloody kanima paralyzed me multiple times, not counting the time I had to keep Derek’s useless corpus afloat in a pool for literal hours. Because Scott couldn’t be bothered to answer his bloody phone.  
Not to mention the damage to my jeep, that was just completely uncalled for. I’m not even surprised it turned out to be fucking Jackson, that guy has always been an ass. The murders weren’t his fault, but I swear he went after my ride on purpose. Pompous dickhead. And what was he thinking, ditching Lydia for London? You don’t ditch Lydia Martin, you just don’t. An after their whole thing about true love saving the day. He is completely…”

Stiles notices Hood chuckling in the background and make a conscious effort to real in his rambling. Hands settling behind his head. Hoping the darkness hides his blush.

“Sound like you have had a rough time lately?”

“You could say that.” Stiles lets out a breath. “With that triade out the way, I think it’s my time for a question.”

Hood just hums in agreement, so Stiles continues. “How did you get into crimefighting in the first place?”

“Stole the wrong set of tires, or the right ones.” Hood snickers and Stiles feels like he just missed an inside joke.

“Sounds like there is a story there?”

“One for another time.”

Stiles sighs, but lets it go for now. “Gonna tell me what b stands for?” The one-letter name has been piquing his curiosity since he first heard it.

“Batman, the guy that started this whole theme.” Hood gestures towards his chest. Also picking up the throwing star Stiles left on the roof in his fit of dramatics. Another move of his hand and it’s gone.

“I was hoping I could keep that.” Stiles points out, getting a smirk in return.

“Maybe I will give you one before we go.” Hood turns his gaze towards the city as a comfortable silence settles between them. It takes a while for Stiles to notice the sleepiness creep in on him. Unable to contain a yawn when he does.

“You should get some more sleep.”

“What about yourself?” Stiles pushes himself up onto his arms. Enjoying the stretch of his back, the roof isn’t exactly comfortable.

“I will be right behind you.”

Stiles kinda doubts that, but still makes his way downstairs. Wawing at Derek as he re-enters the living room. He has no idea about how much of their conversation Derek could hear and right now he doesn’t care. The pyramid is still emitting blue light in regular pulses. He gives the pack a quick once-over, finding everything to be in order, he heads for Isaac’s bedroom. Stealing his bed can only end better, then trying to do the same for Dereks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to try and post once a week. This story also no longer has a set number of chapters, seeing as I'm no longer completely sure where I'm going with it. Jubi, for vague ideas :-) 
> 
> If anybody has anything they would like to see happen in this crossover, leave a comment and I might do it, if it fits with the story. 
> 
> Have a great day :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hood makes the pack breakfast, because Nightwing can't be trusted in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter is going to be a little shorter. Hope you all still enjoy it :-)

The morning sees Stiles awake before he has any right to be. Burying his head under the pillow does little to bring back the sweet embrace of sleep. So he gives up, instead venturing downstairs to see if anybody else is up with the birds.

Glazing at the clock he is surprised to find it’s nearly ten in the morning and even more surprised to find the pack still asleep around the tv. Even Derek has nodded off, a hand on Lydia’s ankle. The lovebirds are entangled on the floor. If it wasn’t for the difference in skin tone it would be nearly impossible to tell where Erica begins and Boyd ends. 

Hushed voices from the kitchen give Stiles a pretty good idea of where to find their guests. Especially since the pyramid hasn’t been moved. Still glowing strong.

He finds Hood sense jacket and body armor, instead milling about the kitchen in a black tank top. He’s cocking several things at the same time, Stiles spots buns in the oven. Pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs all going on the stove.

“Morning kid.” Hood sets a cup of coffee down in front of him, the second Stiles takes a seat at the breakfast bar. Another home improvement Derek has made over the last months.

Hood appears chipper enough, but with the mask still firmly in place, it’s impossible to see whether or not he has any bags under his eyes. Stiles still thinks it a toss-up whether he slept or not.

Nightwing is nursing his own coffee, suit hanging down around his hips and tied off there. Giving Stiles a great view of his bare torso. The toned muscles and the six-pack doesn’t come as a surprise, but the scars are another story. They littler his skin like a macabre artwork, some little more than faded lines and some looking brand new. He’s sure some of the star-shaped ones are bullet wounds.

Stiles stares firmly into the blackness of his drink, not wanting to even think about what made some of the worse looking scars. He has a giant bitemark near his shoulder for god’s sake. How is this guy even alive?

“You didn’t have to make breakfast.” Stiles rests his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth sipping into his fingers, despite the loft having a generally nice temperature. 

“The big bird insisted on it and I was not about to let him burn down your kitchen.”

Nightwing pouts at that. “I’m not that bad.”

“You are an everybody knows it, its a miracle you survived moving out.”

“I did fine.”

“You lived off of take-out and cereal.” Nightwing opens his mouth, but Hood continues before he has a chance to interrupt. “Don’t bother denying it, Replacement confirmed everything.”

Nightwings head hits the table, while he lets out a pathetic whine. “Why did you turn on me baby bird?”

Hood snorts. “I smuggled him coffee last time agent A decided he needed an intervention.”

“You did what!” Nightwings’ head snaps up and he is glaring at the other. Hood only laughs, patting him on the shoulder as he walks past.

“Relax goldie, I spiked it with a sedative. Red was too tired to even notice. He was out minutes after I got my information.”

“Is that why you had orange hair for a week?”

Hood nods with a grimace. “Little bastard can be vindictive.”

“Your family sounds insane.” Stiles can’t help but give his own coffee a weary look. Even knowing there shouldn’t even be any sedatives around this place. He had to bully Derek into getting a first aid kit after all. He hears Hood snort.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Stiles shrugs, deciding to venture the coffee anyway. “I’m getting some idea of it.”

Nightwing chuckles, drowning most of his cup in time for Hood to give him a refill. Pointing a finger at his brother.

“You got off easy. Remember that time he was so bad, I spend a few days keeping him forcefully off caffeine until he finally collapsed and slept for two more?”

And Stiles thought his sleep habits were bad. Hood just hums in agreement, like its nothing special. Flipping another pancake onto the stack and covering it back up in foil.

“I was so sure he was gonna stab me at some point.”

“Me to, there was a betting poll on it.”

Nightwing signs “I’m not even surprised. And afterward, some gossip magasin heard from ‘a creatable source’,” He actually does the quotation marks, “That I was looking for my soulmate and apparently was convinced it would be a chance encounter on the street!”

Nightwing buries his head back in the counter, while Hood just laughs at him.

“I couldn’t go anywhere.”

“You hid out at KF’s place like a chicking.”

Nightwing turns his head to the side, scowling up at Hood. “Just wait until he finds a way to legally bring you back and pulls this kind of stunt on you.”

“No thanks, keep me out of the dammed spotlight.”

Stiles has a new wave of questions, but before he can voice any of them, a sleepy Isaac wanders into the kitchen. He makes a b-line for Stiles, burying his face in Stiles’s neck, even going so far as to nuzzle at the skin there. Stiles just pats him on the head, rolling his eyes at the brothers matching expressions of questioning bemusement.

“Werewolves tend to be stupidly tactile, it’s all about the smell of pack. You get used to it after a while.”

“I know someone else like that.” Hood is smirking at Nightwing, who just wawes him off. The next ten minutes turn into talk about lacrosse since Stiles mentiones that three of them play the sport. That is also how long it takes Isaac to extract himself from Stiles’ neck, turning his attention to the food.

“I smell bacon.”

“Hold your horses it’s nearly ready,” Hood says, but still gives him a few pieces. They can all hear Nightwing mutter ‘softie’ under his breath, resulting in Hood flipping him off without sparing his brother a glance.

“I will go wake the others.” Issac leaves the kitchen again, happily munching on his price.

Stiles gives Nightwings scares another look, having noticed several on Hood’s bare arms as well. Isaac was to sleep drunk to pay much attention, but he doesn’t fancy trying to explain this to the rest of the pack at the moment. Scott will probably freak out, bless his big heart.

“Why don’t you take a shower? I’m sure some of Derek’s clothes will fit.” Nightwing gives him a skeptical look, prompting Stiles to bring out his most innocent looking smile. “I’m sure he won’t mind.” He’s actually pretty sure of the opposite. But they aren’t wolfs, so they will hopefully never know that.

“Just blame the kid if red eyes gets his fangs in a twist over some borrowed clothes.”

Stiles would take offense to that, if it wasn’t for the bribe of perfectly cooked crispy bacon he just received. He has pissed off the alpha over less and will probably continue the trend in the future. At this point, he is even 90% sure Derek isn’t actually going to kill him.

Nightwing signs, but takes the offer none the less. Returning shortly to begin stacking the table with food, while Hood takes his turn in the bathroom. Derek’s clothes don’t fit either of them well, but they make it work. Their masks look even weirder paired with normal outfits. 

Stiles is relieved when they all crowd around the table for breakfast and Derek’s only reaction is shooting Stiles one of his death glares. It even one of his weaker ones, so Stiles count’s it as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mother took a job in another country for some time, I don't live with her anymore, but it's still hitting me pretty hard. Might not keep up with my current schedule, sorry in advance about that.
> 
> I could really use some help on what to do about Allison. Since this was supposed to be much shorter, I don't know what to do with her at this point. Should she be a part of the pack via Scott, or should I do something else?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did end up finishing a chapter for this week, like literally ten minutes ago. But I can seem to concentrate today, so just going to post it as is and maybe edit it more at a later date.

They are out in the preserve, near the burned-out husk of the Hale house. The pack has yet to convince Derek to tear it down and build something new in its place. But they are slowly getting there.

They always try to hold pack nights on Friday, giving them the whole Saturday to laze about in or train, depending on the mode. Sadly Lydia had a previous agreement with her mother and had to leave shortly after breakfast. It’s maybe for the best, considering her eyes still tend to linger on Hood and that she flinches from time to time, hearing something the rest of them can’t.

Stiles also knows for a fact, that Erica and Boyd had planned to spend some alone time together today. But those plans have apparently been put on hold, because they are sitting at the edge of the clearing. Erica is teaching Boyd how to make flower crowns. Stiles is wearing the proof of her capabilities at the moment and so is Nightwing and Hood, which dropped a few jaws when he allowed it.

Stiles can’t help but find the way her tongue peeks out in concentration adorable. The soft look on Boyd’s face as he watches her even more so. Nobody seems to notice Stiles grabbing a picture. Neither looking at him, so no freaky interference from their eyes. They will thank him when they get a photo album for Christmas. None of his friends ever think to immortalize their good times together, so naturally, the job falls to him.

Scott and Isaac are having a training math, Derek barking corrections at them every few seconds. It’s only a matter of time before he loses his patience, taking them both on at the same time. At least now their win rate lies at a solid 40%.

They all know Derek can be a slave driver because he is worried about them. About the next threat hurting or even killing members of his pack. Stiles more than get that. The saurwolf still needs a lesson in relaxation.

“Protect your stomach, a stronger opponent would have spilled your guts all over the clearing!” Derek is glaring at Isaac, who quickly moves his arm to a more defensive position. At least he no longer flinches every time the alpha raises his voice. Stiles still wants to bash Derek’s head against a wall for the way Isaac’s face closes off. They had this conversation already damn it!

“You need to readjust your feet, your center of gravity is a little too far forward in your current stance.” Nightwing moves to Isaac’s side, a soft-looking smile on his lips as he demonstrates what he means. Not caring about Derek’s glare turning his way or the rest of the pack staring at him.

Isaac looks from Derek’s scowl to Nightwings open expression, before slowly trying to mirror him. Stiles is glad the whole vigilantly thing was brought up during breakfast. Not that he learned anything new. He suspects Hood might have had a chat with his brother in the kitchen this morning, they were both annoyingly tight-lipped about the details of their work.

“And both of you need to pay better attention to your surroundings,” Hood points at Scott. “I could have killed you from behind about seven different times already, you have enhanced senses, use them.”

Hood still manages to come off as slightly intimidating, even in ill-fitting clothes and a flower crown. Stiles is a little jealous and he might want lessons.

“What do you two know about werewolf fighting?” Erica asks, her tone has a note of challenge, but it’s mostly her version of polite interest.

Hood smirks “I could wipe the floor with any of you guys any day of the week.”

“Even Derek?” Erica has a matching smirk on her face and oh no, Stiles knows exactly what she’s during. This is so not happening. He gets up from his place leaning comfortably against a tree, or as comfortable as the forest floor gets. Stiles storms across the cleaning, already waving his hands through the air.

“Nope, not happening. We aren’t going there. Banish every through of violence from your pretty little heads, because there will be no fight! Nobody is getting hurt, vigilantly badassery, and healing powers be damned.”

Scott and Erica laugh at him, Isaac at least tries to smother it behind a hand. The rest of them just looks at him with amusement painted across their faces. Boyd is his new favorite, the guys pokerface as impressive as ever. Nightwing is putting a consoling hand on Stiles’s shoulder when he comes within reach.

“I could take you in a fight,” Derek says, completely ignoring Stiles glare trying to burn a hole through his head. Hood gives Derek a critical ones-over, mouth returning to a cocky smirk.

“I don’t think you could, but feel free to give it a try.”

“Little wing.” Nightwings tone is exasperated, but has a barely hidden amusement to it. 

“Relax goldie, I have had worse and you know it.”

“I will try not to hurt him,” Derek says at the same time.

Nightwing looks between them. “Not what I’m worried about.”

Stiles would actually like to know exactly what worries him, and whether or not he should give calling this whole thing off another shot. No matter how futile that will be. Erica and Boyd have already abandoned the flowers, joining them in a semi-circle.

“How do we tell who wins?” Derek is shrugging off his leather jacket, dumping it in the grass.

“Whoever yields first.”

“Nope, not happening.” Stiles gets between them, staring from one man to another. “Derek is a stubborn ass who never knows when to call it quits, and something tells me you were cut from the same cloth.” He raises an eyebrow at Hood, who is during a round of lazy stretching. He only gets a grin full of teeth in return.

“I will be referee,” Nightwing also looks between the two of them. “We are all friends here and it’s just a spar, so no maiming or serious injury of any kind.”

“Aren’t the wolf’s supposed to heal faster than a speedster on a sugar high?”

Nightwing is giving Hood a look that Stiles recognized despite the lenses. Him and Scott have gotten similar ones from both his dad and Melissa whenever they do something the adults consider stupid. Scott must have noticed the same thing, because he gives Stiles a wink, when he catches his best friend’s gaze.

“Sure you up for this?” Derek asks and Stiles recognizes that undertone of doubt. Right now Hood could be any young man on the street, only the domino mask setting him apart from a civilian. Surprisingly it’s Nightwing who smirks this time, rolling almost lazily unto his heels. Pride clear in his voice.

“Little wing has a few tricks up his sleeve, I’m sure you will be unpleasantly surprised.”

Hood gives his brother a two-finger salute, taking up his side of their impromptu circle with nothing but confidence.

Derek’s first swipe is halfhearted at best. Hood doesn't even bother blocking it or the next few hits heading his way, just sidesteps them with a bored expression on his face.

“You can do better than that,” Erica growls.

“Sure hope so.” Hood’s smiles turn wicked. Sending shivers dawn Stiles spine. His counterattack is nearly to fast to follow, several hits land on Derek’s torso before the alpha is sent sprawling unto his ass with a solid uppercut.

Stiles winces in sympathy.

“I know 12-year-olds that fight better than that. I thought the alpha was supposed to be the strongest one.”

Dereks answering growl will be audible for miles. He is on his feet in the blink of an eye, fully transformed. Eyes glowing a steady red.

“That’s more like it.”

Again Hood’s grin is nothing but teeth. Stiles is beginning to think he must be mad. But Nightwing just looks resigned, a smile on his lips Stiles can’t decode.

Derek goes for the stomach and Stiles is convinced he’s about to see what intestines look like, except, Hood isn’t there anymore. The next exchange of blows highlights something Stiles has never noticed before. The werewolves may be stronger than any human could ever hope to be, but they are not that much quicker.

And Hood moves freakishly fast.

At first glance they seem evenly matched. The pack cheers loudly for their alpha. Nightwing watching in silence, albeit the guy never seems to stand completely still. Then Stiles notices something thas has his blood run cold. None of Dereks hits ever fully make contact.

Even when he feints right, before kicking at Hood’s chest, Hood redirects his leg with an elbow. Fist hitting home in Dereks lower back before he dances out of range again. Eyes not leaving the alpha for even a second.

Derek hiss in pain before recovering quickly. His healing meaning that none of Hood’s strikes will matter for long. 

Stiles doesn’t think that will make a difference.

Hood ducks under a big right swing, sidestepping so Derek’s back is half to him again. A kick to the back of Derek’s knee, has him falling unto both of them. Knife at his throat quicker than Stiles can figure out where Hood even hid it. The vigilantly has a fist in Derek’s hair. A predatory smile on his lips.

“I think I win.”

The clearing is utterly silent. Even the flower crown, somehow still in place, doesn’t make him look any less terrifying.

“Nice job little wing, but your evasive manures could still use some work.”

Hood huffs, letting go of Derek in favor of stepping closer to his brother. Pointing at him with the knife. “Fuck you very much Dickhead, not everybody enjoys jumping around like a monkey on crack.”

Derek gets to his feet, face an unreadable mask.

“Just saying a flip or two at the right time would have been helpful.”

“Go bother the baby bat with that when we get home.”

Nightwing lets out a huff, clearly mock offended. “At least little d appreciates my help.”

“He threatened to maim you with a spoon at breakfast yesterday.” Hood raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“But he didn’t do it, and it wasen’t even a death threat.” Nightwing is beaming at him. 

Erica is the first to break the shock, ignoring that entire exchange. She is watching their guest like she wants to devour them whole. Grin wide, predatory, and every bit the frightening she-wolf that she is.

“Teach me everything!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scenes are hard to write. I at least enjoyed the mental image of Jason kicking ass in a flower crown, we all know he could pull it off. 
> 
> That marks the end of anything pre-written and probably also the regular updates. Unless I find a hidden layer of time and motivation somewhere. Not going to lie, I don't really feel like my portrayal of these characters is especially good and it bothers me.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles spends much of his Sunday looking into the brothers. At least, that's what he’s trying to do. But typing either Nightwing or Red Hood into the search bar yields nothing useful. Batman takes him to a bunch of cryptid websites. And searching for vigilantes sends him plunging into the world of fiction. There are a few articles concerning real people, but most of them seem to be helping the homeless wearing their homemade costumes or things of that nature.

It’s frustrating as hell and only adds to the mystery surrounding their guest.

Said brothers moved into a motel yesterday. They promised to send word before leaving and Stiles even thinks they mean it. Doesn’t help Derek’s paranoia, or his own, so they are being constantly monitored by the pack.

Apparently the two haven’t said a word to each other since Isaac got there a few hours ago if his many texts complaining about boredom are to be believed.

Stiles is still thinking about it when Scott drops by for an afternoon of video games. He is distracted enough for Scott to actually beat him at Mario Kart, which is just plain wrong. When they play a first-person shooter game later and Stiles’s character gets sniped five minutes in he’s had enough.

“I just don’t get it. They supposedly beat criminals up every night. One of them is wearing a red helmet for christ’s sake. They don’t exactly fly under the radar. There should be news stories, Reddit threads, goddamn Youtube videos of these guys. But I got nada, zilch, not a fucking thing.” Stiles drops the controller as he flails his arms around for emphasis.

“I don’t know man, most people don’t know about the supernatural either.”

Stiles levels Scott with a half-hearted glare. “It took me literal hours to dig up werewolves after you got bit.”

Scott shrugs “they weren’t lying about it.”

“But they weren’t exactly forthcoming either.” Stiles flops unto his back, ignoring the way Scott is petting his calf in reassurance. “I’m missing something here, something big.”

“You will get it eventually, you always do.”

“For once I would like to know something before it gets a chance to bite us in the ass.”

“What makes you so sure it will?”

“Because it’s us and our luck is rotten.” Stiles runs a hand through his newly grown out hair. “You heard Lydia. Hood came back from the death, that kinda shit doesn’t just happen.”

“Peter came back.”

“That does not make me feel better.” Stiles closes his eyes, once again trying to force the puzzle pieces into an image he can understand, something that makes sense. But there are too many holes, too much he doesn’t know.

“Have you heard from Allison?”

Scott let’s out a long-suffering sigh. “Still in France with her dad, she hasn’t answered my texts in a while.”

Stiles cracks one eye open. Scott lokes very much like a kicked puppy. A lovesick puppy that someone decided to step on for no good reason. Stiles isn’t sure wheather or not those two can ever make it work, but it still hurts to see Scott like that. He drags Scott on top of him in an awkward hug instead of voicing any of those thoughts.

“My dad is working the night shift, wanna stay over an eat our weight in take-out?”

Scott rolls off him with a groan. “Can’t, I still have homework and I have to take over for Erica later.”

“Better not to leave her waiting.” Stiles agrees.

“I still have time for one more game.”

Stiles scrambles for the controller. “This time I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.” 

\--II--

Stiles’s brain will just not shut up, almost like he forgot his medication. It’s that hard to focus. He is going in circles thinking about it since Scott left. A feeling of unease growing as afternoon turns to evening.

Making dinner does little to distract him. Stiles finds himself on his phone, looking up dojo’s as he pokes at the chicken with the fork in his other hand. Nightwing suggested taking a few lessons in self-defense. Stiles still can’t believe that he didn’t think about it himself, that none of them did.

Stiles is looking at jiu-jitsu, liking the way it’s all about using your opponent’s force against them. As probably the weakest in the pack, it’s right up his ally. He is looking at a local dojo as he pushes the door open with his back, trash back in his other hand. There is a free month trial, meaning he can just show up and try it out.

Stiles is looking at a video featuring a young girl swiping the legs of a grown man. Taking him down and putting his arm in a painful-looking grip in one fluid motion. When he hears the gravel crunch ever so slightly behind him.

That is not a good -

Pain explodes from the back of his head.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Stiles notices is a pounding headache. The kind that feels like someone’s taking a hammer to your skull. Impossible to ignore, where all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and whine until it goes away. It drags him into the world of the awake, where it, but some impossible feet. Becomes even worse.

Stiles groans.

He forces his eyes open, missing against the light. The source turning out to be a single light bulb in the ceiling. 

His shoulders and wrist are the next things to make a complaint. Aching something fierce. There is metal biting into his wrist. Stiles can feel a drop of something warm run down his right forearm. It can only be blood and more of it must have already dried on his skin with how much his arms itches.

He scrambles to get his feet beneath him. Only managing to take the pressure off by standing on his toes.

Stiles gives the room another once over. No windows means it’s likely some sort of basement. A single wooden chair is the only furniture in the grey concrete box. His chains connected to a pip with a meat hook.

Damn it all to hell. How does he always end up in these situations? He’s a decent person, no need for karma to be such a bitch.

This reminds him way too much of Argent's basement.

It feels like someone has their claws buried in his lungs. Looking down he sees nothing but his ratty old sneakers, everything is blurred around the edges. Stiles can’t fucking breathe right. No matter how much air he forces down, there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room.

Glumping down another breath, he tastes salt. Only now noticing the tears running down his face, warm against clammy skin. He could really use his best friend right about now.

Stiles concentrates on the last time this happened, on Scotts calm-ish voice telling him to breathe, to focus on things he could see, hear, feel and smell. It’s not helping much now, trapped in a small barren room, feeling nothing but pain. He wants his pack. Wants to feel safe knowing his friends have his back. They always do. No matter who has him this time, the pack will be coming.

They will always come for him.

Taking what feels like hours, Stiles finally manages to get his breathing under control. Just in time for the nausea to come spilling out of his throat, taking his last meal with it. He definitely has a concussion.

\--II--

Stiles isn’t sure how long he just hangs there, legs and shoulders burning from the excursion. He must slip in and out a bit, because he sometimes snaps back to himself, hanging limp from the chain.

A new noise is the first thing to break his cycle of misery. A rhythmic tap on the concrete. The sound of footsteps following shortly. Stiles can decide if the knowledge that people are coming is good or bad. Probably bad.

The shrieking of rusted hinges echo in the small room as the door is pushed open, the rhythmic tap on concrete continues as a man is led into it, hand holding onto the elbow of a dark-skinned woman. He’s holding a guiding cane, a pair of sunglasses obscuring his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t know what to think at first. But the wicked looking claws on the women’s bare feet speak for themselves. She isn’t human. Probably means the man isn’t either, considering the respectful way she helps him into the singular chair. Taking up a spot behind him and a little to the right. Looking at Stiles like he’s a bug that dared to crawl into her living room. Something she can’t wait to crush under her sole.

“Young mister Stilinski, nice to see you are finally awake.”

“I do tend to be bad company when people hit me over the head.” Stiles snipes back before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Cringing at the growl river bending of the walls. The woman is definitely a werewolf.

“Is that something that happens to you often?” The man asks, luckily sounding mostly amused. Stiles needs to weigh his words or he has a feeling this is going to hurt. Too bad any filters he has goes right out the window when he’s scared.

“Often enough. Apparently I’m considered annoying.”

“Wonder why.” The man’s smile has a sharpness to it that Stiles doesn’t like one bit.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m Deucalion.” He says, like he expects Stiles to recognize the name.

“Good for you. Now, what the fuck do you want?”

His head snaps back, a line of pain across his cheek. Stiles can feel a few drops of blood running down his skin.

“Watch your tongue before I rip it out.” Is spat at him in a growl.

“So Kali, there is no need for things to get unpleasant. Yet.” The tip of the cane digs into the meat under his chin, until Stiles is forced to raise his head to get away from the pressure. He makes a pitiful picture reflected in the glasses. All blood and bruises.

“I simply want to offer Derek a place in the greatest pack there has ever been.”

Stiles lets out a huff of air. Head hurting worse than ever, the world has started to swim around the edges again. He tastes blood, spitting it onto the concrete with a grimace.

“And when he refuses?”

“I will show him the error of his ways.” 

“Good luck with that, Derek can be a stubborn ass when he wants to.”

“Let’s see about that.” Deucalion’s smile is enough to send shivers down his spine. “I don’t suppose you would simply tell me about your alphas weaknesses?”

“He has horrible manners. Trust me, getting that guy to say please is like pulling teeth. If Derek's ever polite, he definitely wants something.” Stiles spits out more blood. “Heard he’s decent enough to waiters though and a good tipper. What do you say, fancy wearing an apron and working minimum wage?”

He’s not even surprised when Kali kicks him again. This time aiming for the stomach. The air forced out of him before he can even scream. The impact has Stiles reaching. He would definitely have thrown up, if it wasn't because everything he had in him is already on the floor, stinking up the place.

“I would suggest making things easy on yourself Stiles.”

It takes him embarrassingly long to gather enough breath to form an answer. Aiming a glob of bile and saliva at Kali is so not worth the backhanded slap that has his ears ringing, especially because she’s fast enough to move out of the way. When he finally stops seeing double, he notices Deucalion has a new frown between the eyes.

“You're a pompous asshole and I wowed long ago to make that kind of people's life miserable whenever possible. So you're out of luck, I’m not going to tell you anything useful. But I know a lot about the history of male circumcision if you're interested?”

The only answer is another kick to his face.

The next few hours are a blur of pain, Stiles only vaguely aware of the passing time. His screams bouncing around the little room. The scent of blood heavy in the air, even to his human nose. It mixes horribly with the smell of vomit, creating something that has him gagging on the stench. How the werewolves can even stand to be near here is beyond him.

There are more questions, because of course there are more questions. A seemingly endless line of them. About the pack, about their weaknesses. About blindspots and resources. Stiles bites his mouth bloody to keep quiet. Screams and babbles about random topics when he can no longer take it. They seem to know a lot of the answers already. Deucalion leaves at some point, even though Kali keeps beating him.

Stiles thinks he may be more bait than a source of information.

\--II--

His whole body throbs. Pain radiating out from multiple points, to many to keep track of. Stiles wishes he could just go back to being unconscious, it’s not like he is much help to anyone, strung up here like a piece of meat.

He’s slumped over again, hanging in the chains. A sob escapes him, when Stiles forces himself back on his toes. Fresh tears running down his face.

“Stiles?” A voice asks softly to his left.

Stiles cranes his neck, spotting someone hanging beside him. Same setup. He finds himself during a double-take and not only because his vision is still a little fried. The guy is one of the most beautiful people Stiles has ever laid eyes on and all his friends are freaking greek gods walking the earth. Locks of dark hair, that manages to make ‘birds nest’ a good look on him. Brilliant blue eyes, that look at Stiles in clear concern.

“Hang on a little longer, then we are getting out of here.”

Stiles feels his mouth drop open when he recognizes the voice, recognizes the person. His tired brain finally putting the puzzle pieces together.

What the hell is Nightwing during here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have really lost motivation in this story. So if anyone has ideas for it or just a part you really liked, I would love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
